


I dreamed of you

by tsunderestorm



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:30:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: It's been weeks since Camelot has stabilized, and Merlin hasn't yet been able to find time to spend with Lancelot.





	

It was a terrible thing, Merlin thought, to miss someone who was only a short walk away and even more terrible to feel selfish to wish things would just settle down. The kingdom was recovering from the invasion, settling and adjusting to the rule of the son instead of the father. Arthur’s days were filled by his duties and the knights were busy on patrols, on cleanup and protection in the lower town, on doing...whatever else the knights were supposed to do. This kingdom, he helped to build; this kingdom, these knights, he’d had a hand in creating:  Leon constantly at Arthur’s side, Percival and Elyan learning and re-learning the castle’s layout, Gwaine picking fights for a reason for once, Lancelot...

_Lancelot_. He was the one Merlin craved the most.

It had been weeks since that day, weeks since he’d spilled the blood of hundreds against a pillar in the great hall, watched it snake in rivulets down the stone to the tune of Morgana’s screams. Weeks since Arthur had returned the kingdom to an unsure stability, weeks since his newly-titled knights had been invited to the castle and given rooms of their own and he knew there was still much left to do but _gods_ , what he wouldn’t do for even a few moments alone with him.

In his room, just after nightfall; the sounds of the city below settling in for sleep were a blessing he was indescribably grateful for. Left to himself with no list of chores to be done, blissfully alone. He closed the door to his room quietly so he wouldn’t wake Gaius, thankful that the persistent squeak in its hinge picked that moment to stay silent. He’d battled with his desires since late afternoon, when he’d caught a glimpse of Lancelot training in the yard – devoid of his mail, fully clothed but half-obscene in his vulnerability. Running drills, _left, right, parry **strike**_ , pausing to swipe a forearm across his sweaty brow. The action had been small, simple, but the way his light shirt had rode up his stomach to reveal tanned, lean muscle had made Merlin’s breath hitch in his throat.

He climbed onto the bed in a tangle of awkward limbs, clumsy as always as he tugged off his jacket and shirt, tossing them on the floor beside the bed with his neckerchief. Roughly, he slipped a hand down his pants and relaxed back against the wall at the head of his bed, sighing at the first touch of skin on skin. Letting his legs fall into an easy spread, he took himself in hand and exhaled a moan as his eyes fell closed. It was all too easy to imagine the feel of Lancelot’s hands on him: his sure, steady hands with calloused palms and tender fingertips, his soft mouth, the hard line of his cock in Merlin’s hand, bumping against his hip as they moved against each other. _Inside_ , his fantasy added as he reached for the oil reserved for aching muscles on his bedside table and slicked up his hand, teasing two oiled fingers around his rim before slipping them in.

It had been agony to see Lancelot daily, resplendent in his scarlet cloak and shining mail as he had always deserved to be. To see him laugh and smile and not be able to touch him, to not have time to feel strong arms around him. To see those fingers wrapped around the hilt of a sword, that mouth gentle on the lip of a goblet as he drank deep. He was easy, he supposed; simple in his desires, if the glimpses they were able to snatch of each other between their chores and knightly duties were enough to provide him with this: this aching emptiness, this hungry need.

The Lancelot in his dreams was eager and hungry, pressing against him like death awaited him if he didn’t, murmuring _Merlin, Merlin, my beloved_ , his voice a rhythm to match his hips and in his fantasies Merlin answered _Lancelot, please_ to no one, to everyone who might hear, to his own thoughts and the images filtered into his brain from his love-hungry memory. If he said it out loud, a quiet whimper or a broken gasp, he didn’t care. Too deep in it to resurface, incapable of anything but balancing his foot on the edge of his bed for purchase, to spread his legs wider still and kick his pants off and away – fingers up to the last knuckle inside of himself, the other hand jerking a frantic rhythm on his cock.

The sounds of his own heavy panting and oil-slick skin on skin were broken by a knock at the door and he jerked upright, throwing a blanket over himself and trying to look innocent. (He wasn’t sure it worked.) _Undoubtedly Gaius_ , he thought, and _gods, I hope I didn’t wake him moaning Lancelot’s name._ It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that Gaius had walked in on him in such a state, disheveled and on display, but it wouldn’t make it any less embarrassing.

“Come in,” he called, trying to control his voice, his breathing, hoping frantically that the heavily scented oil wouldn’t betray him, earthy and floral, overlaid with the smell of sex and hot skin. Sighing as the door creaked open slowly, he resigned himself to an awkward question and answer session but it wasn’t Gaius.

It was Lancelot.

“You called for me,” he said softly, stepping forward and clicking the door closed behind him. Merlin scanned through his already hazy mind quickly, looking for a recollection of himself sending for Lancelot, of leaving him a note or mentioning something to Arthur or Gwen who could have passed it along to him. Returning nothing, he cocked his head to the side and looked him over. Handsome as ever, his hair neat and subtle beard tidy, dressed in his customary shirt and breeches so soft from countless years of use they felt like clouds to the touch.

“I heard you calling for me,” he stuttered, adding quieter “I dreamed of you.” Merlin was confused. There was no explanation, unless...it was magic. His magic, Merlin had come to learn, was a curious thing when it concerned the way it affected those around him, especially those he loved.

“Did you not call for me?” Lancelot frowned when Merlin still hadn’t responded after a few moments. “I won’t be upset. I know I did come uninvited. I’ll just feel a little foolish and retire to my room.”

Merlin flushed from the tips of his ears all the way down to his chest, jerking upright in the bed and reaching out as if to stop him from leaving. He hadn’t moved, but Merlin was suddenly terrified of him walking out that door, of letting him return to his rooms at the castle without touching him, tasting him, being one with him again.

“I was...” he licked his suddenly too-dry lips and swallowed. “...thinking of you.”

He let the blanket fall away and Lancelot made a quiet sound in the back of his throat, half-strangled. Merlin would be lying if he denied feeling a little thrill shoot through him when Lancelot’s eyes drifted downward, hungrily took in the sight Merlin knew he was presenting for him. His legs were still spread obscenely wide, his cock hard and leaking against his belly, his hole slick, worked open in anticipation of more than just fingers.

In turn, Lancelot let his cloak fall away and Merlin’s heart fluttered at the sight. He was hard, undeniably so, straining against the laces of his breeches and Merlin knew without a doubt it was for him. All for him.

“The magic...” Merlin started, trailing off. It was _something_ about who he was intimate with, a hypothesis he’d shared with no one. Something about, he’d postulated after reading an ancient book about even more ancient rites, whose seed had been spilled inside of him. His magic, concentrated, hungry and reaching towards those he’d loved: an explanation for why he could sense when Arthur was angry or upset long before he was snapped at or made to dodge a flying goblet, an explanation for why he’d been able to sense when Gwaine was getting close to Camelot again, waiting on the outskirts. Some way to explain why he’d been able to speak to Lancelot in his dreams even when he was leagues away in strange inns in foreign lands. “It... I supposed I did call for you.”

“I was thinking of you as well.” Lancelot said it quietly, confidently and, Merlin noted, with none of his usual shyness. He walked to the narrow bed in a few short steps and climbed on top of him, his weight a welcome one. It was only natural, Merlin thought, for him to wrap his arms up around him, to travel up under his soft shirt and rub along his back. Soft skin and firm, toned muscle under his touches, flesh that dimpled under his fingertips when his hands lost their focus and scrambled for purchase as Lancelot rubbed his hardness down against Merlin. He didn’t care that Merlin’s hands were a sticky mess already and he hadn’t even gotten himself off, didn’t care that he was moaning after hardly the smallest of touches.

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long to speak to you privately,” Lancelot murmured against Merlin’s cheek as he kissed along it. Soft, sweet kisses; his eyelashes like the wings of butterflies. Gentle and beautiful, like his heart, his soul. “There is no excuse.”

“There is every excuse. You’re a busy man. A knight of Camelot, for real this time.” Merlin soothed as he rubbed the heel of his hand against Lancelot’s shoulder, working out the tenseness he knew he carried there each day, fingernails digging in blunt little jabs as he squeezed, as the bulge in his pants rubbed against his thigh.

Lancelot bowed his head, humble as ever, and Merlin nuzzled against him in response, whispering “I can think of no man more worthy than my Lancelot.”

Lancelot pressed their lips together then, a slow, sincere kiss. It made something hot coil in the pit of Merlin’s stomach, made his head spin and toes curl with the gentlest hot curl of Lancelot’s tongue against his own. He slipped his hand off of Lancelot’s back to tangle in his hair, shorter than he remembered but familiar still, wavy and soft. What started slow and sweet turned desperate and passionate, turned to roaming hands and tangled tongues, the clack of teeth together when they got too overzealous and they pulled away laughing every time, hot breath coming in short pants. Their smiling mouths always reconnected, pulled by some magnetic force.

They parted only so Lancelot could pull off his shirt and toss it aside, so Merlin could move greedy hands across Lancelot’s broad chest, through coarse hair atop heated skin; so he could drag blunt fingernails down his chest and belly until they rested atop his waistband, asking for permission silently. His eyes met Lancelot’s for one second and found desire, pupils blown dark and wide, his eyes almost black with it. No less sincere, somehow – the lust was undeniable, irrefutable, but he was still _Lancelot_ , still the man who’d been his first and who would treat him just as kindly each and every time. A smile quirked at the corner of Merlin’s mouth and he cupped him through the fabric, felt the heat of him in his palm and he couldn’t help the moan that slipped from him unbidden. Feeling Lancelot hard and heavy, swollen with desire for him after months, _years_ without was too much, a more heady and intoxicating power than any sorcery.

He knew Lancelot, knew how he thought and felt and he knew the man wanted their first time again after so long to be soft and gentle, knew that he wanted the whisper of rustling sheets and murmured endearments. But he also knew the intensity Lancelot possessed when he wanted something, knew the way his focus could narrow to something like a single-minded obsession. He knew when to recognize the intensity as what it was: pure naked _need_. The tension coiled in Lancelot’s hips was practically begging for release and Merlin was eager to give it, eager to slot those hips against his own and take him inside, the first of many now that he was with him in Camelot for good.

Lancelot wanted but was too noble to take; and so Merlin _gave_. He surged up against him with a newfound urgency, legs hooking around his hips in earnest and pulling him flush against him so he could feel the firm lines of muscle and the hard press of his cock. The pants Lancelot was wearing were old and as soft as he’d thought, just this side of threadbare, the laces nothing but a persistent tickle against the soft skin of Merlin’s thighs when Lancelot reached between them to untie them.

“Merlin, I –“ Lancelot started, breath hitching as he made to pull back to step out of them. “I love you. I want you to know that.”

Merlin caught a glimpse of his cock, hard and shining as it bobbed against his stomach, _perfect_ , nestled in a patch of dark wiry hair and he knew he didn’t want to, knew he couldn’t possibly wait a moment longer. He kissed the corner of Lancelot’s mouth and whispered “I know,” as he trapped him up against him again, urging him forward with a heel at his back.

_Leave them on,_ he thought _, I need you now_ and he swore Lancelot could hear him for the way he dipped his head in a nod of assent, the way the head of his cock bumped against Merlin where he was achingly sensitive, rubbed there with an insistent need.

“And I want you to know that you don’t have to be gentle with me,” Merlin finished as he rocked his hips against Lancelot, a clumsy rhythm but a rhythm nonetheless.

Lancelot exhaled a sigh that sounded like equal parts resignation and relief, searching Merlin’s gaze for anything that looked like hesitation and Merlin made sure he found nothing but adoration and desire.

“I’m safe,” he whispered, his breath hitching when the head of Lancelot’s cock pressed against him, not just a tease but for real, now, slicked up with the oil Merlin had discarded on the bed next to him and catching in a way that stole the breath from his lungs. “I’m free, I’m safe, I’m happy – well, I could be happier...”

Lancelot huffed out a laugh against Merlin’s collarbone where he was busy sucking love bites into the skin, fingers finding his slick rim and circling around it, relaxing him open to the inevitable thick, hot spread of his cock. “I want my Merlin to be the happiest he can be,” he said lowly, almost inaudibly, voice thick with desire. Merlin arched against him as he pressed inside, spreading him open gently, fingers first. “I hope this can help.”

Merlin tipped his head back and _moaned_ , a true, honest sound that would have woken Gaius were he not a heavy sleeper, could probably have woken all of Camelot if he’d thrown the shutters open and let all of Camelot listen to its most worthy knight fuck him.

He didn’t need much, already slick and open already from touching himself earlier and his body stretched wide, impossibly so around Lancelot’s cock as he rubbed his skin in gentle circles, trailing fingers along his thighs, over his hips. They were touches meant to soothe and instead only excited him, made him feel like the room had no air left in it, made him feel like he was floating, spinning. Like he had no responsibilities, not a care in the world; like he lacked the very capability to do anything but spread his legs wider still to accommodate Lancelot’s body between them, to steady his breathing to take him deeper still inside until his knight had nothing left to give.

 “I love you,” Merlin breathed into the shell of Lancelot’s ear, against his jaw, hair tickling his lips when he nuzzled against his temple. _I love you, I missed you, I_ need _you;_ one dozen endearments because he knew full well how they turned Lancelot on and then g _ods, don’t stop_ , please _don’t stop._

“I-“ Lancelot tried to say it again, to return the sentiment and Merlin tensed, tightened the squeeze of his body around Lancelot’s cock and the knight muttered out a curse against Merlin’s shoulder, teeth nicking the skin as he kissed it. It achieved the desired effect for Merlin, got Lancelot’s hips pumping a steady rhythm as his cock slid in and out easier each time, wetly in and out until the room was filled with nothing but heavy pants and the sounds of skin on skin.

_Shh, shh_ , _Lance,_ Merlin’s mouth barely moved against Lancelot’s shoulder, more of a moan than his actual name, whispered _hat’s good, yes, you’re so good to me_ and Lancelot met each compliment with a grunt as he thrusted into him, buried himself to the balls each time his hips snapped forward.

It was intoxicating; the way that Lancelot took him to the greatest of heights only to drag him back down to the earth again, a dizzying back and forth that robbed him of his coherency, his focus, his body’s strength. He was helpless and didn’t have a care in the world, completely safe and more than just happy to feel like this again. Lancelot scooped him up in strong arms, held his hips at a better angle to fuck into him to drag moan after moan from the slack _O_ of his mouth and Merlin knew as he reached back to scramble at the pillow, the rumpled blanket, for something, _anything_ to hold onto to anchor himself that he wouldn’t last much longer. Not with Lancelot filling him up, with the friction of Merlin’s cock against Lancelot’s tense stomach, with the obscene sounds of pleasure Lancelot was making.

He came with a choked sob, a mumbled cry of Lancelot’s name as he spilled between them, painting their sweaty skin with his seed. His body lost all will to support him and he fell back into the catch of Lancelot’s hands on his lower back, trusted him for support as he finished, as he fucked out the last of his high in erratic bursts and Merlin felt it when he came inside. Like filling up a vessel, like making whole what previously was not; the way it made his magic surge in the most exhilarating way.

Lancelot made sure to let his hands slide from Merlin’s lower back to arse to thighs, lowering him back down to the bed easily and pulling back gently, making sure his cock slipping out of him wasn’t painful. Merlin couldn’t help but whimper, couldn’t help the instant feeling of cold emptiness, the feeling of losing something important. Lancelot whisked it way with the press of his lips, deep and sure and _loving_ and they said nothing, did nothing but laid there in Merlin’s cramped bed, never mind the sticky mess or the chilled air on their slowly cooling skin, never mind the cramps he knew they’d have when they awoke because it was worth it to sleep next to each other.

It was good to have Lancelot in Camelot, indeed.


End file.
